Radio and television mirror (July-Dec 1949)

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Visit to the Public Gaol, Governor's Palace and Gardens, Raleigh Tavern and the Capitol. 3-day YOSEMITE FALL TOUR Yosemite Lodge is your host. See Mariposa Big Trees, Wawona Tunnel Tree, spectacular Yosemite Falls, and lovely Yosemite Valley. 3-day Atlandc City, $20.00 D. 3-day Chicago, $11.95 D. 6-day Colonial Virginia, $40.45 D. 3-day Detroit, $12.10 D. 7-day Eureka Springs, Arkansas,$57.00n. ll-dayFloridaCirde,$72.10 Q. 4-day Havana, Cuba, $60.60 D. 3-day Kentucky Caves, $21.10 D. 4-day Los Angeles, $14.00 n. 8-day Mexico City, $68.60 D. 5-day Montreal-Quebec $35.05 D. 4-day New York City, $18.55 D. 3-day Niagara FaUs, $11.75 D. 3-day Salt Lake City, $8.50 D. {Add round-trip Greyhound fare from your city) Prices are for double room accommodations, and subject to dionge without notice. MAIL THIS COUPON FOR TOUR FOLDER Fill in this coupon ond mail to Greyhound Highway Tours, Dept. MW 99, 1 05 West Madison, Chicago 2, III. Be sure to put check-mork opposite tour which interests you. $10M D $3450 D R M 84 Nome. Address^ CHy A State. _MW 99 mother's message. She flew back the way I'd come, possibly shading my time. The parking lot, though it's not quite as hectic as the artists' entrance, has its headaches too. We have room for two hundred and fifty cars out there, and most of the time we're full. Bent fenders and skinned paint are not unknown occurrences on our lot, I'm sorry to say I've often thought there must be something about knowing he's shortly going to have to stand up in front of a microphone that affects a man's judgment of distance. As a for-instance, and because he's a good sport and probably won't mind my telling this on him (too much), I might mention the way Clark Gable pulled in here one day just before he was due for a spot on a show. Darn me if he didn't head in crossways and crease the next car's fenders with his bumper. He hopped right out to see what he'd done, and, as I came up, "I'm insured," he told me. "Tell the guy with the bent fender that I'll take care of it. If I leave you my insurance agent's card, will you give it to the guy, please." I said I would. Mr. Gable fumbled around in his billfold and passed me a piece of paper. I looked at it. It was his driver's license. I passed it back to him. He fumbled some more and finally handed me the right card. I stood watching him a minute as he walked off fast toward the artists' entrance. Clark's a well-built man, got big shoulders. By the time I noticed his feet he was out of hailing distance. He was wearing a brown and white shoe on one foot, brown suede on the other. Which made me feel sort of relieved he wasn't going on television. And now, since we've already mentioned pre-mike nervousness, we might as well take a quick look at post-mike weariness, which wreaks its havoc most noticeably among the funny men. A man with jokes to tell needs a live audience out there in front of the mike to laugh at his gags and make his show sound alive over the air, and that's usually the way it works out. But occasionally a comedian will find his studio theater heavily infested with people whose only apparent reason for being there is to rest their feet. Even the old hands like Frank Morgan, who's been in show business so long he can likely remember when Al Jolson wasn't, take a beating on days when the studio audience is mentally elsewhere. I remember one Thursday afternoon two or three years ago when Mr. Morgan came out the back entrance after a broadcast looking pretty wilted. Ordinarily, he's a man who doesn't need a highball glass in his hand to make him look distinguished. And he's a very natty dresser. But that afternoon he looked as if he'd just finished refereeing a ladies' wrestling match. He came up to my desk with slackkneed steps and asked me if I'd mind going out on the parking lot and getting his car for him. "Are you sick, Mr. Morgan?" I asked. "No, just pooped, Ralph," he answered in tones of utter weariness. "That bunch of zombies we had in the studio today . . . Well, you know how it is. As soon as I saw those three or four embalmers' assistants in the front row I knew it was going to be like working for laughs at Republican headquarters the day after a presidential election, any recent one. I'd risk a small bet I lost five pounds in there today." As Mr. Morgan eased himself into my chair I suddenly decided to ask him a man-to-man question I'd been wanting to ask one of the headliners for a long time. "Just what is it makes a radio show such a hard chore, Mr. Morgan?" He gave me a look that would have dented a battleship. "If you think you'll be any happier for knowing, I'll teU you: it's having to do an entirely new show every week. And if you want to know why that's a tough grind, just ask any woman who's had one, how she'd feel about having forty babies a year." Awhile back I had several unkind words to say about autograph hounds and gate crashers, but there is another class of outsiders wanting inside that I like and try to help as much as I can. Those are the young folks with talent, training, and previous experience on local stations, who are trying to break into upper-level radio. Most of them are actors or actresses, singers or comedians trying to make contacts. Naturally, I hear quite a bit about what's going on on the various programs in the way of casting and so forth. Also, I know which agencies handle which shows, and I know most of the directors and producers. This knowledge has more than once made it possible for me to suggest something that's led to one of those youngsters getting a break, and I get a real wallop out of that. Now that sign-off time is drawing near I might as well admit there's a personal reason why I have a soft spot for radio aspirants. It's a reason I was hardly aware of myself until very recently, and I'm not sure it's an entirely creditable one for a man of my age — fifty-nine, if you must know. It all began back two or three years ago when Ralph Edwards started using me occasionally on his Truth or Consequences show, not as an actor, but as a guard to stay with his contestants and see that they faithfully performed their consequences before they received their king-, size pay-offs from the sponsors. i As watchdog, I'm not supposed to help any of the contestants with their ; difficult and embarrassing chores. Only once did I stretch that no-help rule ai little. That was when Ralph sent a' middle-aged bachelor out to act as babyi sitter for a pair of year-old boys, who,! if I was nicknaming them, I would call* "The Waterworks Twins." Watching] that poor guy's hopeless struggle to keep dry pants on those kids was tool much for me. I pitched in and showed! him how to sling a diaper, a thing whichj once you learn you never forget. i But, to get back to my "personal; reason," I found myself enjoying and' looking forward to those mikeside jobs; for Ralph Edwards. And when one nightj he gave me some lines to speak, I en-i; joyed myself even more. Also, last: spring I performed in front of a tele-j! vision camera in several episodes of a mystery show called The Cat. Mine was a purely action part with no speaking lines. (You guessed it; I played a cop.) The Cat hasn't found a sponsor yet, but all of us who worked on it are hoping that it will pretty soon. Now you see what my personal! reason is for being on the side of the youngsters who show up at NBC's back} door. We have things in common. And, after all, why should I be ashamed of; liking acting jobs and hoping for more[ of them. After fifteen years exposure to the most exacting business on earth.; a man would have to be a stick of wood not to feel an urge to get in there iRi front of the microphone — even if b doesn't say a darn word.